Tear drops and closed caskets

Content warning

...in a sense I'm 14 years, 4 months suicidal, and nobody knows it better than my mind that every year they sing a happy birthday for me, inside my chest behind my ribs there's a beating organ that sings for me too a happy-alive-day song, because of surviving all the 335 suicidal thoughts and attempts. All the diarys I've been owning from the age of 7 are full of never ending lists of things I brood and reminisce about whenever I'm in solitude. Be in a taxi to school; reading a book alone in the park; aiding myself in the bathroom, or swashbuckling in the street like a motherless and lost duck. These days I'm scared to even blink for a jet fast second, because it sometimes seems and feels like my reminiscences deteriorate more than they escalate for the worse every split second I twitch or squich my eyes. Some of these reminiscences have made my head an ideal place of their comfort zone, while some have lost manners to a point of no agible return when it comes to etiquette, because they have a reeking odorsity and steel balls to own a fortress inside the chambers of my mind. Some have went to a point of no possible return where they've become citizens in my brain, hence why everytime I go for a brain checkup, Neurologists keep constantly spotting indescribable bigger than a whale moving objects that give birth like sexual intercourse is running out of fashion and extinction. These reminiscences of being judged make it hard for me to think clearly like a 14 years, 4 months old. They've turned into a hindrance and a yield sign to my beautiful dreams and days. Some of these so-called residents cause stretchmarks in the place they citizens of, while the other crew leaves the soil and ground they've built their fortress on infertile of thinking clearly like a normal teenager. Being pointed more than a direction and judged like I am the worst of the most worse sinners is something that sucks-out my self-esteem more than a skinny with Kwashiorkor mosquito would suck it's favourite blood type from a about to die patient. I live and was born in a world that judges all those who use a different pill as a resolution to fight their skeletons that leave a smudge and a trace of nightmares amalgamated with more grievances than there are clouds in the catholic sky. Truth be served, I've always asked myself and my best friend who happened to be the only person besides my mother that accepted me as I am, that why are we born in the first place if this' how we're going to go. I even went as far as punching God with more questions than all the punches Mike Tyson punched in his career, asking him why did my Dad's spermatozoa score me in my Mom's net, when being criticized for being lesbian everywhere I step a toe was all I was ever going to endured. My back has a bunch of finger tips and prints of all those who always judged and still criticise me for dissapointing and shutting down their expectations in me. Nonetheless, let me stress less, as I take my last breath on earth, let me rather give myself a purpose since the world says I don't have one in life, just because I'm homophobic. Enough said and laid, I think it's now time to kick the chair I'm standing on top off, as I wave my last goodbyes, letting my hands and toes dangle like a dead spider on it's web.

As a mother, there's nothing that leaves a more deeper scar inside the womb that once carried life, like seeing the offspring you once carried for 11 months fallen dead before your eyes. The scar even travels and goes deeper than a miner panning for gold when you burry the soul you once carried; as you sadly watch the coffin descending, you wish to follow it too, just as the one inside of it once followed you everywhere you went when they were still a baby that knew nothing about suicide. The pain leaves almost every if not all the part of the body with a wound. It leaves the heart mulfunctioning doing it's job due to missing what used to brighten it the most. It leaves the brain functioning slower than a pregnant chameleon carrying the whole world like Atlas on it's shoulders. The pang leaves a pack and a deluge of tears and rain. It leaves you down on your knees as you pray trying with all will and might to find comfort in the pain you going through. The pain I'm talking about is the pain of seeing the neck of your God-given princess dangling from a determinedly hard fastened rope. It's the worst that any parent that once carried a child can go through, and I honestly don't wish it on any woman or little girl with or without a child, pregnant or still planning to have one in the future. Would you blame God or yourself if the only child you ever got blessed with chose to commit suicide on the day you bought her a birthday cake. What would you do if you found out 10 minutes later that while you were knocking on her door to sing a happy birthday for her, she was in her heart singing along the "Life goes on" Tupac song that was playing in her phone...?

It was Suterday the 16th of June, some few years ago, when Miss Angela T. Davids almost filled the whole Orange river with tears of witnessing her daughter's toes jangling above the mat, with a fallen chair she used to sit on when she used to read her late daughter bed time stories. The birthday cake she was holding from one hand as she opened the door with the other, immediately without any form or kind of hesitation fell down to the ground like a 7 times shot soldier in the frontline. The first question that kicked and punched her was directed to God, as she asked him "why Elohim, WHY?

It was then that broken and sad Miss Angel Thandeka Davids remembered her late aunt's words that there's no worst pain than of a parent seeing their child laying breathless and dead in front of them. As a teenager, Angel T.Davids never had everything she wanted and kids her age rightfully derseved. She lived in a neighbourhood that made her feel inferior as the consequence of being judged for her body. So when later in life she found out that she's 2 months carrying her first ever child, she told herself that she'll live and die for her baby. She made a lifetime promise from all the veins of her heart that she'll live to always adorn a smile on her baby's face she already adored before delivering it in hospital. She then named her already loved and unborn child Mbali, because she believed that she's her only most beautiful rose in her garden. Later, after long and difficult 11 months of pregnancy, Miss Davids ultimately welcomed little Mbali, and that was when she knew that if it wasn't for her family's prayers, the new born she's holding wouldn't have been born. As a matter of a common fact, she gave her a second name, that's a translation of the first one, and when nurses asked her why did she choose Mbali and Rose as her daughter's names, she told them that she vehemently believes that her child is a perfect example of a rose that grew through cement and infertile soil. All the atrocities, sleepless nights and unbearable pains of carrying a child for more than the usual and expected interval, made her realise how blessed she is to even give birth, when almost everybody thought the baby wouldn't even make it to the long awaiting hands of her mother to hold her.

A decade later, after Mbali Rose Davids' suicide, Miss Angel T.Davids found herself still waking up to every morning mourning about her only God-given child's decision. She spent a lot of ransom that could buy Rome trying to get a pill or an injection that could take away the pain she still felt. Somewhere later, during countless and desperate efforts to deal with the throes and pangs, the same God that blessed her with the late Mbali Rose, blessed her again with the opportunity to be a leader in her neighbourhood she and her forebears were born and groomed at. It was then when Miss Davids seemed to have found a perfect outlet. Still-grieving miss Davids took and grabbed the opportunity with all four limbs, as she already had a mind map of her plans and chess moves for her neighbourhood. Letting bygones be bygones so that she can have a clear mind and heart was one of the changes she had about herself, because she knew that she'll be dealing with people from different lanes of the streets, with different problems. Liberty SQ is a neighbourhood where some residents are still panning to avenge on those who killed their loved ones. A place where dreams are hard to come by. The poverty and crime of Miss Davids can shake the whole death rate in the world. Love for one another is in the list of the most least important things to practice. 

Miss Davids strongly and wholeheartedly so, with no fake ambition attached believed that the Liberty SQ neighbourhood is a place where gifts of any talent are cooked. She believed with immense expectations that the unavailability of tools and resources doesn't mean that Liberty has no talent. Henceforth why she planned on building fields for all sort of sports, where kids are watched by their parents, because there's no beautiful support that can equal to your parents'. She wanted the youth to spend more time doing what they love most, so that they can have no time to hunt for what might hurt the other person.

She wanted those who are good at writting be given empty books and a pen. Those who can creat faints like Ronaldihno, be given a platform like Jesus was given a stage by God to prove his existence. Miss Davids had a vision where she saw the talented but unaware neighbourhood of Liberty producing more stars. She saw it producing the next Tyler Perrys,Messis, Elon Musks, Makhaya Ntinis,Eminems and a lot of Mike Tysons. 

She wanted to get rid of violance, hatred, and anger, because she knew exactly well where do these lead up to. She knew the effects of raising kids in a violent and judgmental environment. She knew that the future of tomorrow depends on the youth, hence why she so focused on it the most. She knew that that of which the youth practices, effects the next generation more than it can affect the one practicing it.

She wanted to make cocksure that every parent plays a role in their child's life, because she exactly knew the effects of being hurt by the absence of what you love and need. She knew that sometimes the absence of what you need and love the most can make you kill to prevent the one you love from experiencing what you once felt. That's why most people who grewup without a mother and a father they needed, give everything to their kids, just to prevent them from experiencing the absence of a paren or what they themselves once went to bed crying for.

As a way of remembering and giving tribute to Mbali Rose Davids, she volunteered to counsel all the woman and men of Liberty SQ who have barried their sons, sisters, brothers, parents and daughters.